Beneath The Floorboards
by PippaGee123
Summary: What happens when the Holmes family has a dark past which is about to be uncovered?
1. I

**I **

"_The virtue of justice consists in moderation, as regulated by wisdom." - Aristotle__  
_

_#####_

**(2) New Messages: Mycroft **

02:56: You're needed. My office. Immediately. –MH

03:19: I meant it!

(5) **Missed Calls**

03:22: Mycroft

03:24: Mycroft

03:25: Blocked Number

03:29: Mycroft

03:31: Mycroft

#####

"What do you want?"

"For you to answer your phone, Sherlock. That's what it's there for."

"That wasn't the intention of your first text, was it? Oh , how dull."

"Sherlock. Now is _not _the time for games."

"Oh, now you're behaving like a big brother."

"How so?"

"You're irritating." _Click. _

Sherlock Holmes tossed his phone down on the sofa lazily, shrugging up the sleeve of his silk bathrobe which had slipped loose. He looked at it for a second after it landed with a soft thud, his impressive brain wondering what his brother wanted.

"Mmf." Sherlock eyed the skull residing on the fire place before spinning to face the creator of the muffled noise from behind him. There stood a pyjama-clad John Watson, rubbing his eyes like a child. "Sherlock... Who was that?"

"I thought you were asleep." Sherlock said softly, taking a step toward John.

"_Were _being the operative word there, Sherlock. You ignoring your phone has ramifications for me..."

"How?"

"It's bloody loud!" John replied, turning on his heel and stomping back upstairs.

Sherlock huffed irritably and threw himself down on the sofa, sliding his hand beneath his back to retrieve his phone. He'd barely laid his hand on it when it began to ring. The sound went right through Sherlock and probably travelled to John's bedroom.

"Mycroft. I don't have time for one of your cases. Leave. Me. Alone." The youngest Holmes brother spat, sitting up straight.

"Sherlock. It's about father." _Click._

#####

Fifteen minutes and a rushed mug of coffee later Sherlock was climbing into a black government car, without John, and being driven over the speed limit to meet Mycroft.

**Compose SMS: Mycroft**

03:55: I'm on my way. You win. As usual. – SH

_**SEND**_

**(2) New Messages: Mycroft **

03:56: Good. It took you long enough.- MH

03:57: Thank you.

The car finally came to a halt outside of what Sherlock assumed to be a government building and the passenger door swung open.

"Sherlock I-"

"Make it quick."


	2. II

II

Sherlock and Mycroft sat with a heavy mahogany desk between them. The latter's brow was furrowed and he was watching his brother rifle through some files tensely.

"Who's this?" Sherlock asked, breaking the silence. He was holding up a black and white image of a middle-aged man with a cigarette perched between his lips. It looked like it was taken 50 years ago.

"That was our grand-father."

"And why was it in here?" Sherlock continued, sliding the photo back into the brown envelope.

"That's what's been 'dug up'." Mycroft said tersely, pursing his lip.

The younger Holmes' eyes narrowed slightly. "I knew there was something not quite right about father's side of the family but why is the government involved?" Sherlock asked, standing up and beginning to pace the office.

"We don't know yet. I was doing some searching for..." Mycroft paused briefly, "_private _matters. I happened upon it by chance and-"

"-And you think we should be concerned." Sherlock finished his brother's sentence bitterly. "Why should we? Why should be bothered by anything _he _did."

Mycroft tensed ever-so slightly. "Because it could be dangerous."

The other man stopped pacing and placed a finger upon his lips.

"You remember all those visits we used to have, from people we didn't know?" The elder brother asked darkly, re-opening the brown envelope that had been sealed by Sherlock.

Sherlock slid himself back into his seat. "Yes..." He replied slowly.

"Some of them are in here. Look." Mycroft handed the files back over to his brother to look through. "You'll be too young to recognise a lot of them, but I remember them. As soon as I saw them."

"What would they be doing in here?" Sherlock asked quietly, taking a second look at the people in the photo."

"I don't know... "

"But you're intending to find out." It wasn't a question but Mycroft nodded anyway.

"I think there's something hidden beneath the Holmes' metaphorical floorboards. We need to dig it up."

#####

"Hungry?" John asked as he pulled a Chinese take-away menu from the letter box's grip.

"Never" Sherlock replied, shortly, shrugging off his jacket and taking the stairs two at a time.

"You really need to eat" John shouted, only half jokingly, as he followed his flat-mate up the stairs.

The flat was unusually cold for autumn and there was a chill in the living room that normally disappeared when someone entered it. John pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and dialled the number of the take-away; Sherlock, however, noticed the atmospheric difference in their flat. He walked with soft footsteps into the living room while John's voice droned on in the background.

"John. Duck"

"Excuse me... What?"

"Duck."

The sound of a gunshot reverberated through the flat as the bullet shattered the glass of the window and headed straight for the kitchen, missing John's head by a mere inch and hitting the fridge. There were unintelligible noises of panic as the two men fell to floor for safety.

There was a moment of what felt like eternal silence before Sherlock opened his mouth.

"John, you alright? "

"What the _bloody _hell was that?" John whispered.

"Well I know literally what it was but..."

"Sherlock!"

"Right. Sorry. I think Mycroft might be able to shed some light on the situation. Stay where you are, if they know at least one of is isn't dead they'll shoot again."

John turned his head towards his flatmate, who was crouched by the sofa, texting. "They? Who's they?

"I don't know just yet. Just... shush. We don't know how many men are out there."

"Oh right, you choose now to not be a know-it-all git."

"John, shut up."

#####

"You have no idea who did this?" The youngest Holmes brother spat, eyeing his elder with a look of utmost disdain.

"Oh, brother dear: the whole point of trying to kill someone is that you don't warn the government." Mycroft replied idly, twirling a glass of whisky in his hand.

"So basically," the third man in the room piped up, "we're not safe, but we can't take any action because we don't know where the threat is coming from. Fantastic. Brilliant."

"You two men will stay here until we assess the situation in more detail. John: call Mrs Hudson, make sure she doesn't go back home tonight. Sherlock, call in a favour with one of your _friends..._ find her somewhere safe to stay."

"And what are you going to do?"Sherlock asked curtly, sliding his phone out of his pocket.

"I'm going to do some research."

"Into what?"

"Our father."


End file.
